


Something New to Celebrate

by thejeeperswife



Series: Cullen Rutherford Appreciation Week 2019 [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Acceptance, Adoption, Anniversary, Babies, Children, Don't copy to another site, Elf-Blooded, F/M, Family, Growing Family, Hardships, Lyrium, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, New Chantry, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reflection, Slaves, Venatori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejeeperswife/pseuds/thejeeperswife
Summary: Cullen and Evie are summoned to the local Chantry late at night.  A sensitive and heartbreaking event has occurred requiring the former commander and ex-inquisitor's attention.  From the darkness comes a beautiful new light and opportunity.Part of daily prompts for Cullen Appreciation Week 2019





	Something New to Celebrate

Cullen wakes with a start. It’s not his nightmares that torment him, but very particular knocking at the main master suite doors. He know those knocks. It took him _years_ to teach the nitwit to even just knock and not _barrel_ in like a druffalo stampede.

Evie stirs beside him, her head burying itself under her main pillow but still very sound asleep. Again, his Lady lays still and resumes her Fade wandering. Thank the Maker Evie learned to be a heavy sleeper than just waking at the slightest mice fart with her magic flaring. Just showing her she was safe in a bed and not sleep up trees took several years. Cullen cannot think of how many times Josephine replaced Evie burnt mattress during the Inquisition.

The Fereldan man slowly rolls from his warm bed and swings his legs out from under the covers. He slips on his linen sleep trousers that Evie unceremoniously tossed in her late night fever lust to ravage her husband with kisses and love making. At least this time, they are close enough that he did not have to search a nearby plant’s foliage for them. Finally, with a few hand brushes through his tossed hair, he stands and leaves the room, enter the suite’s antechamber to answer the now rushing knocks.

What could be such an urgent issue? No templars have begun detox recently. The orphaned mages are in Denerim for the King’s summer festival. The guard horn did not indicate a possible bandit attack.

Cullen’s softening scarred hands turn the doorknob and creaks the door open just enough. There in all his stupidity is Jim Seaman, still as nervous and oblivious as the moment he joined the Inquisition all those years ago. “_What?_” One day the Fereldan lion will speak to his now steward with an even tone and not a bark.

“Uh…” Jim stands there trying to remember his own name. “Notice from the local Chantry, Sir.” He slips a small folded letter through the open crack.

“You know it is the middle of the night, _right?_” Cullen growls, breaking the letter’s seal. “These things can _wait_ until morning.” Since the Inquisition, Cullen thought Jim was getting better at determining what truly required waking the commander and what could wait on his office desk. The only reason the imbecile worked at the Sanctuary was because he married Evie’s former personal attendant, Fesill, after the Exalted Council. Fesill, always thankful to Evie for her tutorage and opportunities, offered her time and dedication to the Rutherfords. Excited to again serve under his idol, Jim did the same.

“Yes, S-sir.” Jim mumbles, twisting his fingers together as Cullen tints the letter into the moonlight to begin reading. “I was already up with the twins. It’s my turn so Fesill can finally get some sleep. The courier arrived a-a-and refused to leave until you or the ex-Inquisitor replied with haste.”

“The twins still not sleeping? Diana finally slept through the nights by age two.” Cullen questions, re-reading the letter contents again to fully understand the implications. He will have to wake Evie for this.

“No, Sir.” Jim sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I heard of elf-blooded children being in pain, their mixed heritage always at war inside their little bodies, but this is _beyond_ even fighting Corypheus!”

Cullen chuckles, folding up the letter. “Hang in there. Diana was a nightmare at that age too…and it hasn’t stopped yet.” The former commander winks. “Just think of it as being on-duty all day every day for the next few decades.” Jim’s eyes widen at the prospect. While Cullen calls him every name under the moons for his silliness, Jim has turned into a loving and caring husband and father anyone would want to aspire to be.

Then the blond Fereldan’s baritone voice shifts. “Tell the courier we will be there as soon as possible. Have the stable hand prepare both horses. Diana will be coming too. She demands visiting any new possible kid after what happened last time.” Ugh, that was a nightmare last time. Cullen never thought he could be so deathly afraid of a seven year old scolding him like his templar mentor at the academy!

“At once!”

* * *

“Lord and Lady Rutherford, thank the Maker you are here.” Mother Sanice wisps as she sees the family of three walk down the nave aisle. 

“Mother Sanice!” Diana barrels forward and hugs the revere mother’s hip with such force the seven-foot tall priestess nearly falls over. The Tal-Vosath priestess’ tall stature used to frighten Diana, but after serving at the local Chantry for the few years, Cullen’s daughter has grown to love the Qunari. She rides with a few recovering templars to the village each chance she gets to just ask about the Qunari’s previous life and hear her numerous stories. While Divine Victoria’s initial decree letting all races serve in the Chantry was not accepted well, in the years since, people have appreciated the diverse priesthood.

“Sanice, what is going on?” Evie asks, her auburn brows scrunches, still trying to make rhyme and reason of the written letter delivered just bells before.

The Qunari actually hangs her head, her horns more pronounced since they usually follow her skull. She avoids wearing a habit because it never can be tailored right to fit around the twisting appendages. “Where do I begin…” She huffs, running her fingers through Diana’s blonde bed hair to calm her warring soul. “It has been a long night.” She waves the family to follow before proceeding towards her personal rooms to the right.

Like moths to Andraste’s flames, the family follows, listening to the mother’s tale. “It began at dusk. A local boy notified me of a scuffle in the village square. While I have taken vows of pacifism and dedication my life to the Maker and His Bride, everyone knows my past. I openly discuss my role as a tamassran in my sermons as you know, the cruelty I committed in the name of the Qun. I ask all to remind me constantly of the unforgiving matron I lived as prior to seeing the Maker’s light. I arrive to find a small elven woman, too young to be without parents, but still alone and helpless. The villagers were purposefully stoning her, calling her racist slurs I too received when I first arrived and served this Chantry.”

“Good ole racist bigotry…” Evie hisses through her teeth. Cullen senses her magic gathering and responding to her short temper. “You would think Fereldans would be more understanding after all this time. King Alistair and Queen Asta work tirelessly to build understanding between the races.”

“Alas, backwoods villages such as here still live in ignorance even after establishing the Sanctuary and meeting all races and cultures that travel to our door.” Cullen pats his wife’s shoulder. With a single touch, Evie’s flaming magic releases. She smiles at her husband’s comfort.

Diana grips Mother Sanice’s robes tightly as they reached her personal chambers. “The woman looked malnourished and suffered greatly. After my appearance, a few good souls assisted me with carrying her here. I see upon examining her wounds with the local healer that she endured years of pain and suffering. Scars large and small littered her skin from daggers…”

“Blood magic…” Cullen concludes instantly, his teeth grinding together.

“Yes.” The mother nods. “Her scarred wrists and ankles and weak mumbles denoted she likely had been a Tevinter mage’s slave.”

“This far south?” Evie questions, her mind already searching for answers. “Maybe from travelling to Redcliffe or slavers searching for new workers. I don’t know.”

“The little I was able to understand from her whispers demonstrated she was likely a Venatori’s personal _property_.” The Qunari huffs with venom.

“Mama said she and Papa vanquished the Venatori though.” Diana points outs, reminding the adults a child was present and heard all these ghastly details. Even at age six, Cullen knows her mind works like an adult and has seen all bits of the cruel world just within Sanctuary. Makers know what the Fade displays nightly. The Anchor keeps torturing his family so many years since Fen’Harel hacked off his wife’s arm.

“We did, my Light,” Evie assures her daughter, kneeling beside her. “That does not mean one became stranded here and hid in the Korcari Wilds or in the mountains.”

“Your predictions are likely true, Lady Rutherford,” Mother Sanice confirms. “But do not fear, little Diana, the scum is dead, killed by the very slave that we saved from stoning.”

“So, why did the villagers stone her?” Cullen questions with a wrinkled nose.

Evie bits her lower lip. “I don’t like your past tense reference to this woman, Mother.”

“Always perceptive, Lady Rutherford.” The mother weakly smiles. “Alas, the woman died just a few bells ago, but not from her years of abuse or the stone…but from childbirth.”

Both Cullen and Evie gasps in sync. The Lion of Ferelden’s mind connects the pieces to why the mother called for the family now. When he read about suspected magic connection and foreign heritage in that letter, he believed the mother could have waited until morning to call the family, but two additional words nagged him the whole ride there: suspected assassination. 

While southern Thedas has slowly accepted the changing world in the last decade, it did not mean all people accepted this will be their lives. Continuous moments cross his desk on attacks on young mages and older templars. People still fear magic. A decade cannot erase ages of prejudice. The war against Corypheus makes the people suspicious of older templars because they could have taken red lyrium and butchered families. Evie and Cullen worked tirelessly against such ingrained hates, while showing the next generations these mindset are learned, not born. It seems daily the husband and wife will always be commander and inquisitor for they made it their mission during the Inquisition fight those ignorant beliefs.

“And the infant?” Evie whispers. Tears already gather on her eyelashes.

Like on cue, little wines echo from beyond the door. Evie pushes the Chantry mother aside and busts through the door. Cullen knows that determined look on his wife’s tan skin. Her motherly instincts rule her and no words or actions will keep her from caring for the baby. Diana quickly follows, smiles and excitement counter her mother’s fierceness.

Cullen watches the scene before him while standing by the door with Mother Sanice. Evie gazes down at the infant, wrapping up the bundle of heart-wrenching joy from the Chantry mother’s bed. She begins to rock the child with her mechanical left arm, designed and built by Dagna, and wipes the tears from the child’s face. The man cannot see the baby’s face with his wife back to him and the bundle, but he can feel the softening gaze his wife’s bright green eyes shares. 

Diana climbs up on the bed and uses the extra height to study the child. She summons a magelight orb easily and makes it turn into a hundred little falling stars around the mother and children. The newborn coos happily. A little arm reaches for a falling light just over Evie’s bicep.

“The baby cannot stay here, Commander…” Mother Sanice whispers to Cullen’s right. “With my past grooming children to be spies and reavers, no one here trusts me with a newborn. His heritage of an elf mother and a blood magic Tevinter, the locals already vowed they want to toss the baby over the cliffs-“

Cullen’s amber glare bore into the Chantry mother. He wanted to rage and cut down every one of those swine who do not see an innocent soul conceived from hells, only a tainted elf-blooded creature. Long ago, his fear and hatred heart would have agreed too scare and abrasive to anything touched by blood magic. He would have believed a demon possessed the baby already and used his own sword to stab the child believing he was just doing his templar duty and protecting the innocent from magic’s dangerous influences.

However, that man no longer lives. Cullen reminds himself daily during his morning prayers that he will forever atone for his actions in Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall, and more until his last breath. He holds his wife and child closely, constantly thankful of their love no matter their Fade-touched soul. His daughter, a Fade walker, would have been slaughtered immediately once her talents became known. Now, she councils everyone at the Sanctuary about what the spirits have shown her every night about ancient elves, Ferelden’s independence, and many other historical events forgotten by the living.

Most of all, the ex-templar would have never met his wife, his Lady blessed and cherished by all throughout Thedas. She stood, fought, and destroyed an ancient darkspawn magister. She fights an ancient elven god that threatens the end of the world. If the world had never changed, molded as Evie believed best, Cullen would have never fell in love with her, been able to marry this mistrusting mage, and conceived a child beyond Cullen’s wildest hopes.

“Cullen, it is a sign.”

The blond Fereldan awakes from his inner thoughts. Evie studies him with soft bright green eyes, pivoting on her foot. The newborn sleeps in her arms, still covered by the blankets so Cullen has not seen the face. “How, my Lady?”

The inferno mage steps forward. “Have you forgotten?”

The former commander searches his mind as his wife nears the doorway. He has always been great with events and dates. History fascinates him. He cannot stop listening to Diana’s new fade memory or reading every written historical book published.

What was today?

Evie giggles and shakes his head. She knows he struggles with memory lapse sometimes. The lyrium already stole so much of his life. As he ages, what his mind remembers continues to slip.

Wait. Lyrium.

“What did you do on this day leaving Kirkwall?” Evie quizzes with a smirk.

Cullens shakes his head and chuckles. He cannot believe it has been so long. A decade of lyrium withdrawal feels both a constant battle and freedom all at once. “I threw my last lyrium bottle into Kirkwall Bay ten years ago today. I broke free of my chains.”

Evie nods before reaching outward and offering the little bundle of blankets to the aging knight. Diana bounces over to listen to the conversation. Her bright green glimmer with hope and happiness. “Isn’t it fate? You break your slavery from lyrium on this very day as that poor woman frees herself and her little boy from her own lifelong torture?”

Cullen takes the newborn finally, tears dripping from his shining whiskey eyes. He studies the boy’s chubby cheeks and matted hair. His light olive skin looks like it is peeling, but Diana shared the same characteristic when she was born. He fits on Cullen’s forearm, small and skinny like other elf-blooded newborns.

Then Cullen feels that pull that alights inside when he first held premature Diana years ago. Any pain or insecurity he once held like a vice shatters holding this little boy. He knows it is father intuition. Although, the first time he felt it after Diana’s birth alarmed him. He never thought he would feel it again, knowing Evie and he cannot conceive anymore children. Yes, all the orphaned mage children at the Sanctuary are “his pups”, but not like with Diana. Not like holding this innocent life now.

It is fate. The Maker smiles on Cullen again. He knows in his heart _this_ was his purpose all along.

The tears stream down his face. Both mourning for what this child endured in his mother’s womb and coming into the world without biological parents. It does not have to be that way.

Cullen’s amber eyes search the sleeping boy’s facial features. His light tan skin mirrors Diana’s features. His daughter inherited her mother’s olive tan skin tone, but his Fereldan ability to be pasty white and peel with too much sun. He has strong cheekbones like Evie that always alights her bright green eyes. The baby’s jaw was strong and pronounced much like Cullen’s bearded chin and jawbone. Most of all, swirls of blue with amber halos accented his beautiful eyes.

The only feature that denotes this beautiful boy is not a Rutherford is the slight point to his ears. Typically, elf-blooded human do not have defining features of their mix heritage. However, since Fen’Harel awoke, more newborns have shown their elf heritage with pride. Their pointy ears have become a sense of pride. Alistair’s own parentage has elevated such people to new heights.

“He needs a name, Papa.” Diana reminds her father. That little twinkle in her bright green eyes knows her parents are bringing the newborn home as their own.

“You should, my Lady.” Cullen glances at his wife. “I gave Diana her first name and you gifted your mother’s name to her middle.”

Evie hums, “I think it should be the same again.” Her sassy lilt demonstrates Cullen has free choice again.

“How about William…?” Cullen tentatively suggests with a smirk.

“That’s means ‘helmet and protection’…” Evie explains with an approving smile. 

“Can Athim be his middle name, Papa?!” Diana quizzes with a happy bounce in her step.

“What does that mean, Pup?”

“It means ‘humility’ in Elvish!” Diana excitedly calls before dancing around the room. “My friend Wisdom keeps telling Fen’Harel that every time he does something stupid!”

All three adults laugh at the explanation. Evie and Cullen trade knowing glances.

“Then it is settled.” Mother Sanice concludes with shining tearful eyes. She holds up her large grey hand. “William Athim Rutherford, I bless thee to walk in the Maker’s light. I pray you great happiness and care for I know your parents will teach you your name sake through love and guidance. May his biological parents find peace in the afterlife. May his mother reach the Maker’s side, find ever-lasting peace, and bless this family union. Ahem.”

Everyone present cries with mirth. Holding his son close, Cullen kisses his forehead, whispering he will protect him with his last breath. Once again, Cullen Stanton Rutherford finds another purpose to celebrate on this pivotal day in his long and happy life.


End file.
